Shorty McCabe on the Job Part 27

"But with him out front," breaks in Hunk eager, "and pullin' that swell line of patter, we could pack the reserved benches from dirt to canvas.

Honest, we could! Say, Mister, lemme put it to you on the level. You buy in with me on this Great Australian Hippodrome, a half int'rest for twelve thou cash, leave me the transportation and talent end, while you do the polite gab at the main entrance, and if we don't lug away the daily receipts in sugar barrels I'll own the boxin' kangaroos for first cousins. Why, it's the chance of a lifetime! What do you say to it?"

And you should have seen the look on Cuyler Morrison's aristocratic map as he inspects Hunk up and down and it dawns on him that he's bein'

invited to break into the circus business. But after the first shock has pa.s.sed off he ends by smilin' indulgent.

"My good fellow," says he, "you flatter me. My qualifications for such a partners.h.i.+p are entirely too limited."

"If you mean you couldn't get away with it," says Hunk, "you got another guess. Why, in one forenoon I could coach you up for a spiel that would set 'em mobbin' the ticket wagons! And with you in a white silk lid drivin' four spotted ponies and leadin' the grand street parade--say they'd be lettin' out the schools for our matinees."

Out of the tail of my eye I could see that J. Bayard was speechless with indignation. But what could I do? The only way of stoppin' Hunk was to choke him, which wa'n't any pink tea proceedin'. Besides, Cuyler seems to be mildly entertained at it all.

"A fascinating picture, truly!" says he. "I have often envied those important personages at the head of street parades without ever dreaming that some day the opportunity might come to me of---- But alas! I have no twelve thousand to invest in such an estimable enterprise."

"Ah, quit your kiddin'!" says Hunk.

He wouldn't believe for a minute that Cuyler couldn't cash a check for twice that, wouldn't even listen to Mr. De Kay while he protests that really he's a poor man livin' on a government salary. Hunk knew better.

The ribbon on the sh.e.l.l-rim eyegla.s.ses had got him, too.

"Very well," laughs Cuyler, givin' up the attempt. "But I must insist that I have no surging ambition, at my time of life, to drive spotted ponies in public. In fact, I've no ambitions at all."

"Then that's just why you ought to hook up with me," says Hunk. "Wait until you've been out a week on the road; that'll be enough to get you interested. And take it from me, there ain't any game like it,--pilin'

out of your berth at a new pitch every mornin', breakfast in the mess car on the sidin', strollin' out to the grounds and watchin' the pegs sunk, drivin' around town to take a glance at the paper display, formin'

on for the parade, sizin' up the sidewalk crowds, and a couple of hours later seein' 'em collectin' from all sides around the big top; then at night, when you've had two big houses, to check up the receipts and figure out how much you are to the good. Say, don't make any mistake, that's livin'! It ain't layin' back easy and havin' things handed you on a platter: it's goin' out after what you want, your jaw set and your shoulders braced, and bringin' home the bacon."

Cuyler, he's still listenin' sort of amused; but he's inspectin' this crude specimen in front of him with a little more int'rest. He shakes his head though.

"I've no doubt the life is all you describe," says he. "However, it is not for me."

"Why not?" demands Hunk. "Didn't I just hear you tellin' how you was travelin' with a bunch of dead ones? Ain't stuck on it, are you? And the answer is, Come out of your trance. I take it you ain't anybody special where you are now; just one of the cogs. Buy in with me, and I'll make you the main belt. That's right! Say, I'll tell you what! We'll feature you on the four-sheets--De Kay & Co.'s Grand Australian Hippodrome. Your picture in a wreath of roses,--no, a horseshoe's better,--and we'll play up the show as a refined, educatin', moral exhibition. They'll believe it when they see you. You'll be the big noise, the man in front. You'll hear 'em pa.s.sin' the tip along the curb as the parade swings by, 'That's him--Mr. De Kay!' And you'll be the one to receive the Mayor and his wife and show 'em to their arena box. Every day a new Mayor in a new town. And you'll know 'em all, and they'll know you. What! That'll be bein' somebody, eh?"

He'd stepped up, right in front of Cuyler, talkin' free and easy, as one man to another. But then he always was that way. Not fresh, you know, nor c.o.c.ky; but just as if he was as good as anybody, and allowed everybody was as good as him. He's lookin' Mr. De Kay straight in between the eyes, good-natured but earnest, and all of a sudden he reaches out a big paw and slaps him folksy on the shoulder.

"Well, Brother," says he, "how about it?"

I don't know how it struck J. Bayard Steele, but as for me, right then and there I got wise to the fact that, in spite of the ear tufts and low-brow manners, Hunk Burley, man for man, would measure up with De Kay or anyone else; that is, within his limits. For he'd found his job. He was there with the goods!

The same thought must have hit Cuyler too. Couldn't help it. He was lookin' level into them steady eyes, hearin' that husky, even voice, and watchin' that calm, rugged face that had so much strength behind it. A party to depend on, to tie to. Anyway, something of the kind got him, got him hard.

"By George!" says he. "I--I wish I could!" And with that he gives Hunk the grip, quick and impulsive.

Which was when I developed this foolish idea. I looks over to J. Bayard and grins. Then I turns back to Cuyler. "Well, it can be fixed," says I.

"Eh?" says he. "I beg pardon?"

"Your bit from Pyramid's pile," says I. "If you'll take the chance of chuckin' your salary and quittin' the ranks of the unburied dead, we'll stake you to enough so you can buy in with Hunk. Won't we, Steele?"

J. Bayard gulps once or twice and looks sort of dazed. "If Mr. De Kay really wishes to connect himself with such a venture," says he, "of course I----"

"I do," breaks in Cuyler. "And I a.s.sure you, Gentlemen, that I feel more alive at this moment than I have for the last twenty years. My friend Burley here has done that. I want to go on feeling that way. I am willing to follow him anywhere."

"Then it's a go," says I. "Steele, write a voucher and I'll O.K. it."

"Good work!" says Hunk, givin' Cuyler another bone crus.h.i.+ng grip. "And remember, we split fifty-fifty on all the net. I'll close the deal by to-morrow noon, and three weeks from to-day we open in Savannah."

Half an hour after they'd both gone J. Bayard still sits there gazin'

vague and puzzled at the silver crook on his walkin' stick.

"Just fancy!" he mutters. "A circus!"

"Oh, well," says I, "maybe it's better to be keepin' step to 'Rockin'

the Boat' than draggin' your heels along in the wake of the unburied dead."

One thing I'm sure of, Cuyler wa'n't indulgin' in any momentary fit. He meant business. I saw him last night, just as he was startin' for the steamer.

"How you and Hunk comin' on?" says I.

"Excellent!" says he. "We've made some compromises, naturally. For instance, he is to drive the spotted ponies, and I am to wear an ordinary black silk hat when I lead the street parade."

CHAPTER XIII

A FOLLOW THROUGH BY EGGY

Might have been a wrong hunch, as it turned out; but for awhile there what I wanted to do most was to take this Eggleston K. Ham, wad him up in a neat little lump, and stuff him into the waste basket. I wouldn't have been exertin' myself much, at that.

He's one of that kind, you know. Insignificant? Why, in full daylight you almost had to look twice to see him--and then you'd be guessin'

whether it was a lath that had sprouted whiskers, or whiskers that was tryin' to bud a man! Them and the thick, gold-rimmed gla.s.ses sure did give him a comic, top-heavy look.

Course, we get all kinds in our buildin'; but when the lady voice culturist on the top floor sublets her studio for the summer to this freak I thought we'd gone from bad to worse. And she even has the nerve to leave the key with me, sayin' Mr. Ham would call for it in the course of a week or so.

[Ill.u.s.tration: He sidles up to the desk and proceeds to make some throaty noises.]

We'd enjoyed about ten days of peace too, with no bloodcurdlin' sounds floatin' down the light shaft, and I was hopin' maybe the subtenant had renigged, when one mornin' the front office door opens easy, and in slips this face herbage exhibit. It's no scattered, hillside crop, either, but a full blown Vand.y.k.e. When he'd got through growin' the alfalfa, though, his pep seemed to give out, and the rest of him was as wispy as a schoolgirl.

He sidles up to the desk, where I have my heels elevated restful, and proceeds to make some throaty noises behind his hand. I'm just readin'

how Tesreau pulled out of a bad hole in the seventh with two on bases; but I breaks away long enough to glance over the top of the paper.

"Go on, shoot it," says I.

"I--I'm very sorry," says he, "but--but I am Mr. Ham."

"Never mind apologizin'," says I. "Maybe it ain't all your fault. After the key, ain't you?"

"Yes, thank you," says he.

"Eggleston K., I suppose?" says I.